The grave, a poem. To which are added An elegy in a country church-yard, by Gray. Death, a poem, by bishop Porteus [&c.].1804 |
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... night , dark night , Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun Was roll❜d together , or had tried its beams , Athwart the gloom profound ! the sickly taper By glimm'ring through thy low - brow'd misty vaults , Furr'd round with mouldy damps ...
... night , dark night , Dark as was Chaos ere the infant sun Was roll❜d together , or had tried its beams , Athwart the gloom profound ! the sickly taper By glimm'ring through thy low - brow'd misty vaults , Furr'd round with mouldy damps ...
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... night's foul bird Rook'd in the spire screams loud : the gloomy ailes Black plaïster'd , and hung round with shreds of scutch- And tatter'd coats of arms , send back the sound [ eons Laden with heavier airs , from the low vaults , The ...
... night's foul bird Rook'd in the spire screams loud : the gloomy ailes Black plaïster'd , and hung round with shreds of scutch- And tatter'd coats of arms , send back the sound [ eons Laden with heavier airs , from the low vaults , The ...
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... night . Oft ' in the lone church - yard at night I've seen By glimpse of moon - shine , checqu'ring through the trees , The school - boy , with his satchel in his hand , Whistling aloud to bear his courage up , And lightly tripping o'er ...
... night . Oft ' in the lone church - yard at night I've seen By glimpse of moon - shine , checqu'ring through the trees , The school - boy , with his satchel in his hand , Whistling aloud to bear his courage up , And lightly tripping o'er ...
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... Night dews fall not more gently to the ground , Nor weary worn - out winds expire so soft . Behold him ! in the ev'ning - tide of life , A life well spent , whose early care it was , His riper years should not upbraid his green : By ...
... Night dews fall not more gently to the ground , Nor weary worn - out winds expire so soft . Behold him ! in the ev'ning - tide of life , A life well spent , whose early care it was , His riper years should not upbraid his green : By ...
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... night , a long and moonless night , We make the grave our bed , and then are gone . Thus , at the shut of even , the weary bird Leaves the wide air , and in some lonely brake Cow'rs down , and dozes till the dawn of day , Then claps his ...
... night , a long and moonless night , We make the grave our bed , and then are gone . Thus , at the shut of even , the weary bird Leaves the wide air , and in some lonely brake Cow'rs down , and dozes till the dawn of day , Then claps his ...
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Almighty arrow cross beneath Bishop Porteus bleeding blood bloom boast breath catholicons cheek cheer COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD cruel dæmon dark dead dead of night Death deep disarm'd dread drops dust E'en e'er earth endless pains ev'n ev'ry fair fame flatt'ring foul gen'ral gen'rous gentle gloomy groan hand hard hunted hast heart Heav'n honour'd horrors hour immortal song joys life's ling'ring liv'd live look loud mankind mansions Methinks mighty nature ne'er neighbours say night nought o'er Offer'd once pain paths of glory Peace pow'r promis'd proud Robert Blair round rouze rude ruin scarce scatter'd shew sight Smil'd smile sons soon soul sound spoils stamp'd strange stream sudden sweet swoln tale tell thee thick thine thing thou thro tomb twas tyrant vex'd warm weary WESTMINSTER ABBEY Whilst wreck wretch yonder younker youth
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Страница 29 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team a-field ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke...
Страница 32 - Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' The Epitaph Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Страница 31 - With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.
Страница 29 - Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death?
Страница 50 - Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.
Страница 50 - The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er...
Страница 50 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Страница 31 - Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth...
Страница 3 - WHILST some affect the sun, and some the shade, Some flee the city, some the hermitage ; Their aims as various, as the roads they take In journeying through life ; — the task be mine To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb ; Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all These travellers meet.